


The Flamel Club

by Hedge_witch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus is manipulative, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Bellatrix is terrifying, Crazy Bibliophiles, M/M, Severus is a troll, Wholesale theft from 'The Dumas Club'
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-05-08
Packaged: 2017-11-04 05:15:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hedge_witch/pseuds/Hedge_witch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When seasoned book-dealer and freelance researcher Remus Lupin is inveigled into a highly lucrative wild-goose chase by Albus Dumbledore, he is quite reasonably, expecting the worst. His fears are initially confirmed when he ends up forced to co-operate with the deeply unpleasant Severus Snape and the two find themselves in a race to stay one step ahead of psychopathic bibliophiles, suspicious detectives and the various unpleasant memories of their past. Remus is aware that under such circumstances, falling for one's companion is almost inevitable, but he's damned if he isn't going to put up a good fight first. Unfortunately Severus Snape may be more than a match for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I re-read Arturo Perez-Reverte’s ‘The Dumas Club’ over the weekend, which meant that I woke up this morning convinced that what the world really needed was someone to shamelessly pilfer it's plot in order to provide some kind of structure for a spate of Snupin. I am going to try to be relatively serious but needless to say, things might get a little ridiculous.

The light fitting creaked from the weight of the body that hung beneath it and DCI Shacklebolt shuddered. He observed the contorted corpse before him and wondered why people still chose this particular method when committing suicide. Surely it would be simpler, easier, to opt for the numbness of a carefully calculated overdose or a clean head-shot. He found it deeply strange that the drawn out gasps and post-mortem indignities of hanging were still in vogue. 

He did not wonder why the man had sought to end his own life in the first place. Twenty years in the police force had presented him with ample reasons why people, even those who were ostensibly wealthy and stable, might find their existences too much to bear. In this case he did not have to search far in his mental database for a motive. With a wife like that, it was no wonder Rodolphus Lestrange had sought to clock-out early. 

“We couldn’t find any note sir,” DI Weasley reported from the doorway. He paused, and continued hesitantly, “are we sure its a suicide sir?” 

Everyone in the force knew about Bellatrix.

“It looks like it,” Kingsley offered his DI a wry smile, acknowledging their shared suspicions. He moved across the room, careful not to disturb anything, to where a display case sat on the desk, empty, but with an absence of dust in a central rectangle that indicated this was a recent state of affairs. 

Some time later, when the body had been removed, the scene cleared and hehad butted unsuccessfully against the wall of terrifying, whimsical blankness thrown up by Bellatrix Lestrange, Kingsley Shacklebolt drove a little way into town, stopping on a quiet street and pulling out his phone. 

The person on the other end picked up after a short interval and evidently did not stand on ceremony as Kingsley paused only briefly before commencing with his business.

“Sir its DCI Shacklebolt here, yes...I’m aware you asked to be kept informed about the Lestranges so...yes, its Rodolphus. He committed suicide, I got called to the scene this morning. No, we’re certain it wasn’t murder, but I thought you’d better be told that things are moving on that front...No, the only odd thing was that there was a book missing. Make of that what you will...Yes I’ll keep you informed...Goodnight sir.” 

**

On the other side of the city Lupin’s Second-Hand and Antiquarian Books was closing for the second time for the night. Officially its business hours ended at five o’clock, along with most of the other rather idiosyncratic shops in this shabby, rather bohemian corner of London. However its doors nevertheless remained open to a rather different clientele for some hours after that. Those who’d got something from the sale of old Mr Peverell’s library, ‘yes the 1632 edition, but there were some engravings included that looked like they were from an earlier period and could Remus possibly take a look?’ Remus looked, joked, offered drinks and generally exchanged favours and information with the diverse but tight-knit community of Londoners who interested themselves, for reasons of business or pleasure, in all things bibliographic. The till had long been locked earlier that evening, but Remus was well-aware that this was the most potentially lucrative part of his day. 

All of this, Remus acknowledged with a wry twist of his mouth, did not fully reconcile him to manouvering Mundungus Fletcher out of the shop at nine o’clock at night, firmly relieving him of the first-edition of Gormenghast he’d ‘just picked up to have a look at’ and the glass of whiskey he’d helped himself to at some point. 

“Goodnight Dung” he said quellingly as he ejected his light-fingered visitor into the night and firmly locked the door against him, resting his back against it as he uttered a sigh of relief. 

With exquisite timing, it was at that point that the phone began to ring. 

Remus groaned and was tempted, for a few seconds, to ignore it. However, he gave his phone number out to very few people, being, for all his affability, an instinctively private man. This meant that when someone did phone, he could be reasonably sure that their call was important. 

He shuffled over to the phone and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Ah Remus my dear boy! I trust I’m not disturbing you?”

Damn, Dumbledore. 

Pushing his fringe off of his aching temples, Remus attempted to keep the trepidation out of his voice.

“No Albus, I’ve just closed for the night. Is there anything I can help you with?” He winced as he uttered it, talk about giving someone an opening! True to form, Albus did not hesitate to take advantage of it. 

“Well as a matter of fact there is a little favour that I wanted to ask of you, Perhaps we could have tea tomorrow and discuss it hmm? Would 10 o’clock suit?” 

Then without waiting for any answer from Remus, beyond a silence that could conceivably be considered as consent, “excellent, excellent, well I’ll see you tomorrow then, Goodnight!”

“Goodnight Albus,” Remus uttered mordantly at the dial tone, before slamming the receiver down with unnecessary vigour. 

Remus Lupin did not exactly work for Professor Albus Dumbledore, but he was not entirely independent of him either. The Professor had supervised him for his undergraduate thesis when he’d been up at Oxford, and had also been a fellow at his college. Dumbledore’s scholarly expertise on Early Modern print culture had led him naturally into a passion for book-collecting. A passion that had been supported by his long-term relationship with Gellert Grindelwald, who ran one of the most important German publishing houses. At any rate, Dumbledore was widely renowned to be in possession of one of the finest private libraries in Europe, and was particularly noted for his collection of books relating to the occult. He was, Remus begrudgingly acknowledged, probably a good man, but also a ruthless one and he had wasted no time in picking Remus up after his personal crisis, dusting him down and putting him to work in the book trade, with all the benefits their connection accrued to him. Benefits, Remus had to admit, that went both ways, as he was well aware that he owed the speed of his establishment in his chosen career to Dumbledore’s support. 

**

So it was that Remus knocked at the door of Dumbledore’s elegant Georgian townhouse with a gracious smile sitting uneasily on his face. This shifted to a more comfortable expression of wariness when the door was opened, not by Albus, but by a slight, impeccably wastcoated, elderly gentleman with a shock of white curly hair and a rather dangerous light in his eyes. 

“Ah!” He exclaimed, “the distressing Mr Lupin!”  
Remus refrained from dignifying that with a response, merely raising an eyebrow which did not disconcert the other man in the least.

Instead he leaned forward uttering a moue of distress “oh no, your hair is greying around the temples! That’s most impolite of you my dear Remus. No-one wishes to see the beautiful boys of one’s youth ageing, the consequences for one’s own mortality are just far too distressing!” 

“I don’t believe ‘one’ was ever required to look, in either circumstance!” Remus bit out tartly, provoking a somewhat vicious grin from the other man. The situation was however, prevented from escalating by the appearance of Dumbledore, mild in his half-moon spectacles.

“Gellert what an earth are you doing?” He enquired chidingly.

“Merely baiting a wolf on the doorstep my dear” Grindelwald replied without missing a beat.

“An unwise, and needless to say, impolite occupation,” Dumbledore replied with his customary serenity, then, leaning over his partner’s shoulder he offered an apologetic smile to Remus, “I do beg your pardon Remus, I’m afraid the passing years that Gellert so bemoans have not served to teach him courtesy, please do come in.” 

With the uneasy feeling of a minor predator entering the shared territory of two fractious  
and co-dependent lions Remus passed the threshold, hanging up his coat but holding onto his battered leather satchel like a talisman. 

One of the things Remus had always appreciated about Dumbledore was that he kept his collection about him, lining the walls of his study and forming part of the fabric of his life, not locked away in an arid secure vault. Remus‘ ears therefore pricked up as he balanced a teacup on one bony knee and watched Dumbledore go over to his safe rather than to one of his shelves. His interest heightened to overt excitement when he caught sight of the volume that Dumbledore laid reverently on his desk.

“My God!” Remus exclaimed and hastily set his teacup down out of harms way, before darting over to the desk to get a better look, “is that what I think it is?”

Dumbledore looked over at him, his eyes twinkling, “it is indeed, one of the few surviving copies of Il libro del principe mezzosangue.”

“But there are only three genuine copies in existence, the Ollivander, the Maxime...”

“And the Lestrange volume,” Dumbledore interjected, “this is the latter.”

“What!” exclaimed Remus, “you can’t tell me that harpy Bellatrix was willing to sell anything to you!”

Grindelwald snickered and Dumbledore gave a slight smirk, “no indeed, fortunately this volume was purchased by Rodolphus Lestrange in his own right, and was therefore his to sell, as he did, two days before his...unfortunate death.”

Remus felt a chill run down his back, “you don’t suppose..?”  
Dumbledore stiffened and Grindelwald interjected smoothly, “we try not to speculate about the affairs of the Lestranges Remus, and you of all people should be glad that someone profited from their misfortune.” 

Remus shrugged in acquiescence, his views on Bellatrix in particular were well known. 

“Nevertheless,” said Dumbledore, “I have my doubts about this copy’s authenticity.”

Remus’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline, “really? But its been checked countless times, every established source confirms that its genuine.” 

Dumbledore twinkled at him “ah but has it been subject to the rigorous research of Remus Lupin hmm?”

Remus smiled thinly and Grindelwald snorted with laughter.

“Flattery will get you nowhere with this one Albus.”

If anything, Dumbledore’s smile reached new heights of serene triumph, “that is why I intend to resort to bribery Gellert.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cheque for an amount that temporarily rendered Remus speechless.

Sensing his advantage Dumbledore continued. “That of course is a preliminary fee for researching my copy, I will of course pay for any expenses incurred when you have to travel to compare it with the Ollivander and Maxime volumes. Should you find that either of those volumes is in fact genuine, I will be willing to double your money should you acquire it for me.” 

Remus glanced up sharply, “acquire? That sounds potentially illegal.”

Dumbledore waved his hand airily, “I would of course, never ask you to act against your conscience Remus,” which was, as Remus reflected, a different moral category entirely. 

“Why the assumption that only one of the copies is genuine though?” Remus paused, “please don’t tell me you believe all that nonsense about the ‘Elixir of Life’ Albus.”

“It is a purely scholarly interest in the subject Remus, of course I do not actually believe that any such potion could confer immortality, but the idea, and the method by which people thought they might achieve it is interesting in itself is it not?”

“Hmmm,” uttered Remus, still sceptical, “but say one volume did contain the recipe, how would I be able to recognise it? I can interpret Renaissance symbolism well enough to find any encoded aspects of the work, but I have little knowledge of the intricacies of alchemy and potioneering in the period. Many of these works contain multiple hidden elements, how would I know when I found the exact information you seek?”

Grindelwald and Dumbledore both smiled triumphantly, “well,” said the latter, “we were just getting to that, have you ever encountered a man named Severus Snape?.” 

“No,” said Remus and, was that relief flitting across Dumbledore’s face?

“Ah,” said Dumbledore, “well I’m sure the two of you will get on like a house on fire.” 

Grindelwald’s snicker was not reassuring.


	2. Chapter 2

If asked, Remus was not certain that he’d be able to give a satisfactory account of the process by which he ended up on a train to Manchester the next morning. At some point it must have involved him agreeing to accept the rather large sum of money that Dumbledore was willing to fork out for him to engage in a wild goose chase. By extension he must then have agreed that he would undertake this project alongside the mysterious Severus Snape, who it was apparently imperative that he approach in person. 

Nursing a quiet suspicion that he’d been co-opted into acting as the advance guard in a long running battle Remus sighed. Adopting an air of fatalism he wolfed down the last of the restorative chocolate bar he’d bought at Kings Cross and folded his newspaper into his bag as the train pulled in. 

Remus’s mood was not helped much by the revelation that Snape apparently lived in the most miserable, run down part of Manchester. A suburb of gloomy terraces far away from the buzzing, gentrified city centre. Keeping an eye on a sullen group of young men smoking in a litter-strewn park Remus was glad; not for the first time, of the adaptability of his appearance and his ability to shift from shabby-genteel at book fairs and auctions to hunched and unkempt when walking along streets filled with boarded up shops and overgrown gardens. 

The house at Spinners End at least showed some signs of habitation, but the presiding spirit seemed no more welcoming than its dour, abandoned neighbors. It had a watchful look, and the weak, grey sunlight hit its windows in such a way as to make it impossible for Remus to see if anyone was indeed observing his approach from within. 

Squaring his shoulders and suppressing his trepidation, Remus advanced up the slippery, leaf-strewn oath and knocked firmly on the door. The extended silence that followed seemed to mock him, and unaccountably irritated Remus was about to try again. Before he could the latch was pulled back and the door opened, not wide enough to let Remus in, but to allow the owner of the house to observe him. 

Though the hallway in which he stood was dark, there was still enough light from outside to allow Remus to get the impression of a tall, dark-haired man, pale and austere of feature, who was in the possession of a pair of black eyes, which, though arresting, were certainly not filled with goodwill. He looked Remus up and down, evidently deriving little pleasure from the sight of him and the corner of thin, mobile mouth curled up into a sneer. 

“Oh Hell, Albus is sending messenger-boys now! Maybe if I hold out, next time he’ll deign to come in person. It would give me inordinate pleasure to deny him entrance.” He turned away, leaving the door open in what was neither an invitation, nor a denial. “Well, come in so I can tell you to fuck off properly.” 

Gaping slightly, Remus followed him, shutting the door behind him but refraining from taking off his coat. He looked around and felt his mouth go dry. 

Books, books everywhere the wall would support a shelf and stacked up on every spare flat surface besides. Remus was accustomed to living over a bookshop, whose stock staged a steady, implacable invasion of his small flat, but this was something else entirely. Snape leaned nonchalantly against one of these heaving bookshelves, fixing Remus with a calculating stare and giving every impression of leisurely sharpening his claws. 

Snape smirked, “the old coot’s been ringing me constantly since Saturday and I dealt with that as I saw fit.”’ He gestured to a side table, where a phone sat, receiver firmly off the hook, “and now he sends a sacrificial lamb! He must be desperate, I admit I’m somewhat curious. Although...” He gave Remus another long, insulting look, “he may not have told you anything important.”

Remus fought the urge to bristle and instead unearthed one of his blandest, most aggravating smiles. “I’ll leave that for you to judge. Albus occasionally employs me to research, acquire or authenticate books for him, he has recently made an acquisition that he feels requires the benefit of both our expertise.”

Snape frowned, “I can’t imagine what.”

Remus allowed himself a small smile, “Il libro del principe mezzosangue,” he felt a small stab of satisfaction as Snape’s head whipped up. That had got his attention.

Snape recovered quickly, once more assuming an expression of extreme indifference. “Well, so he’s finally got his hands on that has he? Did Ollivander finally pop his clogs? Nevertheless I fail to see what this has to do with me.” 

“Albus wanted your expertise on certain aspects of the book’s subject matter.”

Snape’s eyebrows shot up and he barked out a mirthless laugh. “Oh God this is about the elixir! He’s finally gone senile!” He sneered at Remus, “how has he managed to suck you in to this nonsense? Or do you just believe what he pays you to.”

Finally tested beyond endurance, Remus was preparing a snarled retort when they were interrupted by a furious volley of blows applied to the front door. 

“Snape!” A high-pitched voice screamed from the other side, and Remus breathed in sharply, what the hell was Bellatrix Lestrange doing here? He turned to put the question to Snape only to find him glaring furiously and holding a finger to his lips. Remus swallowed his enquiry, yes, discretion was probably the better part of valour in this case, no matter how ridiculous they might look, crouching in silence in Snape’s hallway while they waited her out. 

It took a full twenty minutes, Bellatrix’s stream of invective getting ever more extreme and the blows of her hands against the door being joined by kicks. Several times Remus glanced over at Snape, alarmed as the door gave another violent shudder and Bellatrix grew almost incoherent in her rage, only to find the man, sprawling, quite at his ease, with an expression of faint, amused contempt on his face. 

When they were both sure that she had finally departed Snape fixed Remus with another one of his piercing stares, and drawled, with a faint air of reproach, “You neglected to tell me that it was the Lestrange volume that Albus had acquired, needless to say, that changes everything.”

“It does?” Remus was still faintly in a state of shock. 

“Oh yes, I’ve been nursing a grudge against that harridan for the best part of fifteen years, the slightest evidence of her discomfiture is like balm to my soul. As Albus no doubt calculated.”

“Ah!” Remus recovered his wits somewhat, along with a niggling suspicion that he had nurtured while waiting for Bellatrix to leave. “I was wondering if that was how Lestrange got wind of your involvement, she certainly didn’t come up on the train with me.” 

“Hmph,” Snape shot Remus a sharp, assessing glance, “if you did indeed come to that conclusion independently then you may be sharper than you look.”

“I’ve learnt not to put anything past Albus when he’s decided on something.”

“Ha! Yes indeed, he’s certainly not above appealing to my worst instincts.”

“You care little about money, and the intellectual challenge...”

“Is amply provided by my own research, or I can always just do the bloody crossword.”

“I see, so spite is your primary motivator. I imagine that you are going to be a charming colleague.”

“We will at least be united in the desire to get rid of each other as quickly as possible,” Snape smiled aggressively and paused, “however i doubt I am going to be able to facilitate that without knowing your name...”

“Remus Lupin, I won’t pretend that its a pleasure.”

“Hmm,” Snape shot Remus a hooded, unfathomable look, “appropriate.” 

Remus did not have to rack his brains to uncover the sequence of events that led him to return to London that evening with a taciturn, openly dissatisfied companion. The splitting headache still afflicting him could attest to the long conference he had undergone with Albus over Snape’s telephone.  
Remus and Albus had done much of the negotiating, with Grindelwald and Snape providing occasional interjections of mockery and vitriol. At one point Snape had imperiously seized the receiver from Remus’ hands and had embarked on a lengthy invective of such impressive fluency and range that Remus had not been able to suppress a grudging admiration for the other man’s fearlessness. This had perhaps been a little less yielding to Albus than he normally would be. 

Not that their resistance had availed either of them much, Albus had seemed more amused than disconcerted and had still managed to insist that both of them work together for the duration of the project, and to talk Remus into putting Snape up. This last aspect had been a sticking point for both men, but Albus had insisted, politely but firmly, that he did not like the idea of the book and all their research materials moving constantly from one place to another, fearing for the security of his book. 

Remembering Bellatrix Lestrange’s howls of rage, Remus had to concede that he had a point. 

Remus sighed and looked over at his companion, implacable behind his newspaper, and grimaced. He had a sinking feeling that this was just a prelude to the delights this job was going to throw at him.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day Severus was woken by the rain, hammering against the roof tiles and streaming in a curtain down from the guttering above his window. He glanced over at the clock and cursed, half-past nine. 

He had never been able to eradicate his tendency to sleep-in in the mornings, all his efforts in that direction merely inculcating a sense of guilt in him when he did, inevitably, wake up late. He was especially annoyed by his body’s betrayal today as he had hoped to be up before his host in order to work out how the shower worked and how to get some caffeine without having to engage in any inane conversation. 

Last night he’d hoped that the sullen silence that had persisted throughout the train journey would continue. Unfortunately as they’d reached the outskirts of London, Lupin had visibly squared his shoulders and applied himself to ‘making an effort’. Severus had, needless to say, thwarted his every attempt at civility, but all his expertly crafted jibes seemed to do little to dent Lupin’s facade of politeness. The man was entirely aggravating but it could not be denied that he had an impressive poker-face, it was impossible to tell whether or not he had been getting some malicious enjoyment out of Severus’ growing frustration. 

Resolving not to waste any more thought on the matter Severus hauled himself out of bed and braced himself to encounter his host. As it turned out, he needn’t have worried, on entering the corridor Severus encountered a post-it note, stuck clearly at eye-level on the wall opposite his door. The note concisely summarised where the shower was and advised Severus how to get hold of toast and coffee. Severus stood, nonplussed, until he registered the silence in the flat. Of course, it was perfectly possible that Lupin had gone out but nevertheless Severus found himself grinning, it looked like he was up before his host after all. 

***

Some hours later, after stumbling into the kitchen, to find an irritatingly smug Snape sipping coffee and making himself free with his newspaper, Remus settled down to examine Albus’ book. He donned his archivists gloves and went through the standard checks rather mechanically, already knowing what he would find. Sure enough, everything was as it should be, binding, print and paper were all evidently from the correct area and time period. 

This was hardly surprising, though not professionally engaged in the trade, Albus had been collecting for most of his life and was certainly no fool. There was no way for anyone to argue that the volume Remus held was anything but what it purported to be, unless of course, its contents did not match up to expectations. Remus reached over to reclaim his preliminary notes on the book, careful not to disturb Snape, who, by unspoken agreement, had set himself up at the other end of Remus‘ kitchen table and who had assumed an expression of severe concentration, heightened by the black-framed reading glasses he wore. 

Remus shook his head and glanced back down at his notes. 

Il libro del principe mezzosangue had a chequered history. Attributed to an eccentric alchemist named Nicolas Flamel, it had been published in Venice in 1532 and had initially flown under the radar, seemingly an unremarkable mixture of Neo-Platonism and alchemy of the sort that was popular in humanist circles. However, over the following decades rumours had begun to circulate, claiming that the work contained knowledge encoded in the symbolism of its particularly fine woodcuts. One of the most persistent of these was the contention that these images collectively held the secret of producing the Elixir of Life, a draught whose repeated consumption could stave off death eternally. Though no-one was ever reported to be successful in discovering this secret it had not stopped the newly founded Holy Office from acting in 1589 as copies of the book were systematically rounded up and burnt. Only three copies were known to survive and with all his experience Remus could not suppress a little thrill of excitement that he was studying one of them right now. 

He put his folder to one side, turning to the expanded photographs of the woodcuts that he had carefully taken earlier. They were finely worked but not over-detailed, tasteful by modern standards. Remus was experienced enough to examine the image as a whole first, too many people were led astray by an obsession with the telling detail. He was just settling down to subject the image to a thorough examination when he was interrupted by a knock against the glass of his kitchen door. Remus looked up, surprised, few people would choose to call on him via the fire-escape and tried to prevent his mouth twisting as he recognised the stooped, oleaginous figure of Henry Borgin. 

***

“Bugger” Lupin muttered covertly before assuming a manifestly fake expression of welcome. 

Severus lifted a curious brow and turned in his chair, not bothering to conceal his curiosity as Lupin went over to the kitchen door and the rather unpleasant looking figure behind it. He noted that Lupin made no move to invite his visitor into the flat, leaning across the doorway, his long frame an effective barrier to entry. 

“Hello Henry,” said Remus, his voice mild, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Henry smiled nastily, his eyes cold. “Just wanted to congratulate you Remus, heard you cleaned out at the sale of old Bathilda Bagshot’s library, seems that when the rest of us got there you’d already got the prize volumes off of her at half the price the rest of us would’ve been willing to pay!”

Lupin shrugged, but Severus could see his shoulders tense. “I knew Bathilda from my time at university. We’d stayed in touch ever since and she knew my line of work. She said she’d rather that her favourite books went to someone she knew and trusted.” He shrugged again, his voice mild yet unapologetic. “You know how it is Henry, I was just lucky this time.”

“Yes, very lucky.” Henry Borgin seemed unmollified, “I wonder if the old lady would have been quite so generous if she knew about your boyfriend there,” he snapped, casting a venomous look at Severus. 

All the affability drained immediately from Lupin’s face and his voice, though still soft, was deeply dangerous as he asked “and just what are you implying there Henry?”

Faintly amused by the alarm that flittered across Borgin’s face, Snape decided to exacerbate the situation by slowly unfolding himself from his chair and advancing to loom in the doorway behind Lupin, assuming his best sneer. The cumulative effect was rather too much for Henry Borgin, who contented himself with some hostile, inaudible muttering before beating a hasty retreat. 

***

“Nasty little shit.”

Remus started briefly, unaware that Snape had been standing so close behind him. He moved to one side and the other man sauntered out to join him on the fire-escape. Snape seemed to hesitate for a minute, before giving a gesture that eloquently conveyed ‘to hell with it’ and reaching down into his boot to pull out a lighter and a packet of cigarettes. 

“What?” he said, glaring at Remus without any real heat, “that’s the first time anyone has dared even skirt the edges of homophobia in front of me since I was seventeen! I think I’m entitled.”

“For the shock?” Remus enquired dryly, as lounging against the rail, Snape looked anything but.

“Of course not,” Snape quirked an eyebrow at Remus before inhaling and closing his eyes in an expression of bliss, “it just makes seeing them off all the sweeter.” 

“You’ve been trying to give it up?” Remus enquired, attempting to keep this unexpectedly civil conversation going as long as possible.

“Intermittently,” said Snape, “for the past ten years...” His expression turned sardonic, “it has never been all that successful, as you can see.” 

“Ah!” said Remus unthinkingly, “so that explains why you can be such a...” He paused, frozen, aware that he had let his mouth run away with him.

“Such a..?” Snape’s voice turned silken and threatening.

Searching rapidly for a way of ending the sentence that would not result in an explosion Remus drew a blank. Deciding to take a gamble on Snape’s seeming preference for honesty, he drew his shoulders back and answered firmly, “such an arse.”

“Hmmm,” Snape took a final drag on his cigarette, and was that a brief smile flickering around his mouth? “Interesting,” he stubbed it out and passed by into the kitchen without another word, leaving Remus waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Which was probably the plan...bastard.

***

The rest of the day passed in productive silence until Remus, glancing at his watch, realised with a start that it was nearing half-past six. Aware that he had almost nothing in the cupboards, he glanced over at his companion, who was still absorbed in the growing piles of papers surrounding him and cleared his throat. 

Snape looked up, his gaze slightly unfocused and his reading-glasses slightly askew. Remus felt his mouth go slightly dry for reasons he didn’t care to analyse and cleared his throat. 

“Well all I’ve got in the house is wine and Jaffa-Cakes, so do you fancy getting a takeaway, Chinese, Indian? Or I could pop out and get some Fish and Chips?”

Snape frowned. “White wine?”

“Well all kinds really, but there’s definitely some white there yeah.”

“Then Fish and Chips of course.” Snape shot Remus an incredulous look and returned to his book. 

“Oh of course,” grumbled Remus, grabbing his coat, wallet and keys, doggedly ignoring Snape’s smirk as he swung huffily out of the door.

***

Severus Snape did not snoop, he frankly couldn’t care less about bloody Lupin’s private life, however if people would participate in the ridiculously sentimental practice of leaving photographs around, he reasoned that they were fair game. To be fair, Lupin didn’t have them plastered all over his fridge like some people, which just meant that the isolated photo that Snape had glimpsed in his front room had caught his eye even easier. Waiting for a decent interval in case Lupin decided to turn back Severus padded into the front room and had a closer look. 

The photo showed a younger Lupin, his hair slightly longer and an earring just visible. He had his arm around the shoulders of a strikingly handsome, slightly arrogant looking young man with long dark hair and a rakish grin. They could have been friends, but something in the way their heads tilted together and the other man’s fingers curled around Lupin’s collar-bone spoke of a greater intimacy. This was not what gave Severus pause however as he leaned closer to study the face of the other man without disturbing the frame. He looked familiar, but in the indirect way that suggested Severus had never personally met him. Severus frowned as he rifled through his mental database of faces, searching for that particular combination of cheekbones and wide grey eyes and darted backwards as he realised. Regulus Black! The two could have been brothers, and indeed hadn’t Regulus mentioned an older brother? One whose name he was careful never to mention in front of Bellatrix and from whom he was presumably estranged? Severus frowned, he found this level of coincidence unnerving, he would perhaps have to break his normal taciturn habits and encourage Lupin to be forthcoming about his past this evening. 

***

Unaware of the schemes forming in Snape’s brain Remus arrived back at his flat a quarter of an hour later to the sound of The Clash blaring from his speakers. He found Snape examining his large CD collection and drumming his long fingers against the bookcase in time with the beat. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Remus asked wryly as he turned the volume down enough to make himself heard. 

“Surprisingly, your musical taste is not entirely unfortunate,” was Snape’s only reply and Remus grinned as he took down two wine-glasses and located his corkscrew. 

Two hours later, after they had consumed the better part of two bottles of wine, Remus was feeling pleasantly tipsy. Their conversation had been surprisingly enjoyable as they had bickered amiably over subjects ranging from a debate over David Bowie's best album to the relative merits of Dumas père and Stendhal. Remus could feel himself relaxing, it was pleasant to share this kind of humourous raillery with someone, it was something he had long missed. 

It was due to this haze of contentment that Remus did not notice Snape’s posture subtly change, as he leaned forward and fixed his eyes on Remus with greater intensity. 

Snape took a slow sip of wine and asked, with deceptive casualness, “so how was it that you got entangled in Albus’ web anyway?”

“Oh,” said Remus, taking a larger swig from his glass, “he was a tutor of mine, up at Oxford. I took quite a few courses with him and he supervised me for my Masters. He was going to do the same for PhD but then...”

“But then..?” Severus raised an interrogative brow and seeing Remus hesitate, “oh go on, you’re clearly dying to regale someone with your woes and luckily I’ve drunk enough to be accommodating.” 

Considering the matter Remus realised that it would be nice to tell someone about the disaster that was his mid-twenties, without fear of any smothering sympathy, and it wasn’t like he cared what Snape thought of him anyway. 

“Well,” he said, “I had this boyfriend you see, his name was Sirius Black, he was a mad bastard really, but gorgeous. We were in the same college and when he moved down to London, I was with him pretty much every weekend. Everything was going well, I mean, it was all a bit chaotic but that was part of the charm. Anyway, I don’t know the full story but, his younger brother Regulus, the only one of his family he still spoke to, well he started going off the rails a bit. He was up at Cambridge along with that bitch Bellatrix Lestrange, so it was no wonder really. Anyway, Regulus got sucked into her weird little circle, she had this psychopathic PhD supervisor called Riddle, who had a long-running grudge against Albus... When it all came to a head I was down at Sirius's flat for a night. It was howling a gale, and suddenly Regulus turns up at the door. Well I had him settled down, gave him a drink, but Sirius...well sometimes he couldn’t leave well enough alone, started giving him the third degree. So they ended up having a huge argument and Regulus stormed off. I told Sirius not to be stupid, begged him to stay put, but he wasn’t going to listen to me...” 

Remus swallowed and his fingers tightened around his wine-glass. “He went off hell for leather on his bike, got about half-way to Cambridge before he crashed.”

Remus lapsed into silence, his earlier good mood completely vanished, leaving a sense of emptiness in its wake. Mercifully, Severus said nothing, merely pouring the last of the bottle into their respective glasses and sitting there pensively, until, by mutual, silent agreement, they went off to bed. 

***

Severus did not however, get to sleep for some hours. Remus’ story was not new to him, and had he been so inclined, he could have filled in the gaps in the narrative himself, but the time was nowhere near right for that yet. The one revelation of the evening, ridiculous in that Severus had never had an opinion on the man before, and furthermore, he was long dead, was that he really disliked Sirius Black.


	4. Chapter 4

By mutual, unspoken agreement neither Severus nor Remus made any further reference to their conversation the next morning, choosing to continue as normal. Remus was reassured by this, he’d woken to a faint sense of uneasiness, aware that he had told Severus an awful lot about himself, without receiving much information in return. 

Severus’ studiousness and taciturnity had steadied him however and after giving the matter some more thought, Remus had realised that in fact, he had learnt quite a lot about the other man. Severus was clearly someone to be judged by his actions, his silences and those oblique comments that he attempted to sneak under the radar. Taking those into account Remus had learnt that Severus was gay, was sufficiently irritated by prejudice to back-up someone who he had given every appearance of disliking and was also a reasonable conversationalist when he turned his mind to it. Remus was aware that there was an underlying tendency to his thoughts, but while he tried to be scrupulously honest with himself he was content to leave any conclusions he might have made about Severus unconscious. After all he had only just met the man. 

***

The morning passed much as the previous day had done, but by midday Remus was beginning to feel restless. Severus still seemed completely focused on his work however Remus had noticed him adjusting his glasses and rubbing at the places where they pinched his skin with increasing frequency as the hours passed. 

Coming to a decision, Remus stood up. “I’m taking a trip out if you want to come.”

Severus raised an eyebrow, “you have a lead to follow up?”

Remus shrugged, “not particularly, its more of a matter of covering all the bases. I just want to consult a restorer I know, just to check if there’s anything I’ve missed.”

It was a thin excuse and Severus obviously knew it. Mercifully he refrained from commenting, merely setting his glasses down, grabbing his coat and scarf and following Remus out of the door. 

***

Severus’ lips thinned as he and Remus walked up to a studio made notable by its bright pink door, a situation that was not improved when it was yanked open by a woman who appeared to have dyed her hair to match. 

“Remus!” She cried in welcome, wiping her hands on a threadbare Iron Maiden t-shirt liberally spattered with paint before reaching up and enveloping Remus in a clumsy hug. 

“Who’s your mate?” She asked, her grin not faltering even in the face of Severus’ manifest disapproval. 

Remus smiled wryly, “Tonks this is Severus, Albus has us working together on a case. Severus this is Tonks, I assume she has a first name but I’ve never been able to drag it out of her, not even after the liberal application of tequila.” 

Tonks sniggered as they walked into her studio. Glancing around at the mess of canvases, easels and large tubs of paint Severus frowned and muttered to Remus “I thought you said we were going to see a restorer.” 

“Oh I do a bit of that,” said Tonks blithely, “my dad was in the book trade and when I decided to give up all hope of a steady wage to become an artist he insisted I learnt restoration work as a sideline. She moved over to the sink and began scrubbing fiercely at her hands. “So?” she said, directing her question to Remus, “Albus' books are always interesting, what have you got for me today?”

“Little more than a request for a second opinion I’m afraid,” said Remus, carefully removing the book from his bag and setting it down, atop its coverings, on a table that, in contrast to the rest of the room, had been kept scrupulously clean. 

Tonks snapped on some gloves and gave a low whistle as she saw the book. “Bloody hell! I‘m surprised Albus let this out of his sight for a second, even for you, golden boy. What’s the problem?”

“Albus has concerns about whether the book is genuine.”

“You’re kidding right?” Tonks looked incredulous, “all three copies have long been authenticated, unless he’s picked up a random fourth from some dodgy bloke in an alley, and even from here I can see that isn’t the case, what the hell is the problem?” 

Remus shrugged, “I’ve told him all of this, and,” he smirked at Severeus, “no doubt Severus has made his views perfectly clear as well. However if he’s determined to waste his money I’ll at least make a thorough job of it.” 

Tonks shrugged, “fair enough.” She bent down over the book and performed a series of checks that Remus recognised as ones he had made earlier, whistling tunelessly through her teeth as she did. Severus gave a faint snort of exasperation at this and Remus noticed that the stiffness he had displayed when they had first met had returned with a vengeance. 

“Well its kosher Remus,” said Tonks, pulling off her gloves, “but then I reckon you already knew that.” 

“Yes, no surprises here then, I’m sorry to have bothered you Tonks.”

Tonks grinned diabolically, “oh no you don’t, you’re not getting out of here without buying me a drink.” 

Remus shot a concerned glance at Severus, whose expression was inscrutable. This rapidly turned to shock as Tonks seized Severus’ arm and propelled him out of the door and along the street, keeping up a stream of chatter as she did. Remus hastened to follow, seeking to forestall any major explosions.

***

The Hog’s Head was a thoroughly disreputable pub, regarding wide-screen televisions and any foodstuffs other than crisps, peanuts and pork-scratchings at a stretch with utter contempt. Remus found its purist devotion to the art of drinking appealing, along with the mixed clientele of local bohemians, off-duty policemen and market-traders. 

“Wotcher Aberforth!” Tonks cried, abandoning a distinctly shell-shocked Severus and waltzing over to the bar. 

Remus grinned, and tapped Severus on the arm, leading him over to a table, “are you alright?” He asked quietly, attempting to not let his amusement colour his tone. 

Evidently he was unsuccessful as Severus shot him a quick glare, drumming his long fingers impatiently against the table. “I’m not walking with the pink-haired harpy on the way back,” was his only rejoinder. 

“Agreed,” said Remus, “I don’t really think I want to test the limits of your patience any further than I already have.” He smiled at Severus, and to his surprise received a crooked half-smile in return. At the sight of it Remus felt a flare of something that he was loathe to analyse in his stomach. 

Thankfully Tonks returned at that moment spilling some of their drinks as she almost tripped over a chair. 

Severus raised a sardonic eyebrow, “thank heavens I didn’t order a half,” and Remus grinned behind his glass. 

***

An hour later when Severus had excused himself to go to the toilet Tonks finally rounded on Remus. “Sooo,” she drawled, “he’s a miserable bastard, but my god that voice! And the hands,” she added, “he has good hands too.” She nodded decidedly. “You should definitely shag him.” 

Remus flushed, “Tonks, its really not like that...”

She waved a dismissive hand, “not yet, maybe, but you have to know how depressing it is knowing how long its been since you got laid. You’re an attractive bloke Remus,” she paused, considering, “I know for a fact that Kingsley Shacklebolt fancies you.”

Remus choked on a mouthful of his beer, “how the hell do you know that?”

Tonks grinned, “here comes my source right now.” She leaned over the back of her chair and blew a kiss in the direction of DI Bill Weasley, who had just walked into the pub and, seeing them, came over to their table.

“Hello Bill,” said Remus as the detective threw himself down into a chair opposite, “has London been behaving herself today?”

As it turned out the city had been misbehaving terribly. Bill was still in the middle of recounting his woes when Severus returned to the table. Remus made the introductions and did not fail to notice the way Bill’s gaze sharpened when he looked at Severus’ face. 

“Have we met?” Bill asked as he shook Severus’ hand.

“Not that I remember,” Severus’ expression was opaque and Bill seemed a little confused, frowning and dropping the subject. 

Nevertheless the conversation trailed off after that, and shortly Remus and Severus took their leave, Tonks electing to stay after winking rather unsubtly at Remus. 

Remus felt Bill’s eyes on their backs all the way out of the pub. 

***

They rode the tube back to Remus’ house in silence, Remus’ thoughts whirring. His instincts told him the Bill hadn’t made a mistake, he was a clever man and his memory had only been sharpened by his job. Why then had Severus denied knowing him? The answer that immediately suggested itself was that Severus had been in trouble with the police at some point. If that was so, it was his business, Remus having come to the attention of the law several time in his misguided youth was hardly one to judge. His offense evidently hadn’t been serious as he was still at liberty, and after all, Albus obviously trusted him enough to employ him on an important case... However there was still a niggling worry, Remus hadn’t forgotten Bellatrix Lestrange’s visit to Spinners End, the two obviously knew each other even if they clearly weren’t on friendly terms. 

These thoughts carried Remus back to his flat, but they were quickly suppressed as, climbing his stairs, he saw that his lock had been forced. 

***

Severus and Remus moved as one, quietly but swiftly passing through every room of Remus’ flat, checking to see if the intruders remained. After they were satisfied the flat was empty they were able to turn their attention to the incredible mess that remained. 

The flat gave the appearance of being thoroughly ransacked, no drawer or cupboard left unchecked. The really troubling factor was the intense rage that was evident in the ripped and scattered papers and the boot-marks on the walls. The focus of the search appeared to have been the table at which they had been studying, their notes and books flung across the floor. 

“Bloody Bellatrix,” growled Severus, his face grim, and Remus gave a sharp nod, there couldn’t be anyone else. 

“I am going to kill her!” Severus spat, and despite the situation, Remus felt a slight warmth blossom in his chest. 

He quickly pulled himself together, “an unwise action at the moment Severus, first I think we ought to call Albus.”

Severus nodded absently, collapsing down in a chair to brood while Remus retrieved his phone, which, thankfully, remained undamaged, and proceeded to dial Albus’ number.

“Remus! How lovely to hear from you! How is your work progressing?” Albus enquired before Remus had a chance to get a word in, displaying his irritating ability to know whoever was calling him even before they started talking.

“We have a problem Albus, “ said Remus grimly.

“Oh?”

“Yes, we appear to have had a visitor, one with extraordinarily bad manners.”

“Ah the charming Mrs Lestrange I’ll warrant. The book is safe?”

“I was carrying it with me as per your request.”

“Ah, good, well I suppose we will just have to accelerate matters a little. I will call Ollivander directly.”

“Albus should we not call the police?” Remus did not miss the way Severus’ head jerked up at that.

“No my dear Remus, I do not think that would be wise. It would only delay matters, and I imagine the attention of the law would merely antagonise rather than neutralise your opponent.” 

Remus sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. “Very well Albus. I’ll set things in motion, but you are paying to sort out this bloody mess you understand?”

“Perfectly Remus, I have already agreed to recompense you for any...inconveniences you may encounter. I would appreciate it if you contacted me when you reached your destination.”

“Of course Albus, Goodbye.” 

Remus set the phone down firmly and turned to Severus, who raised an interrogative eyebrow. 

“Get your bag re-packed,” said Remus with a fatalistic air, “we’re flying out to Venice tonight.”


	5. Chapter 5

If there was one good thing about being Albus’ glorified lackey, it was that when the old coot ordered you to do something, he had the decency to sort out the logistics of it. 

Albus had evidently been ready for the eventuality of a quick departure as a bare half-hour passed before he rang back with the details of their train to Gatwick, their flight and a hotel reservation in a basic place near the airport. The latter was a relief as they would be getting into the Aeroporto Marco Polo quite late. 

Severus had taken this call as Remus was occupied in swearing at his suitcase and throwing out clothes in order to make room for more books. 

“You are going to need some trousers you know,” Severus said dryly as he caught a pair of the offending articles that had been flung away from Remus’ suitcase. 

“Trousers, who needs trousers.” Remus waved a dismissive hand, before grinning up at Severus, his face suddenly young in the low light of a slightly askew lamp. “Unless their absence would make you uncomfortable of course.” 

“I imagine that if the pneumonia did not get you first, you would be swiftly arrested for indecent exposure, so I believe that the discomfort would be primarily yours.”

Remus widened his eyes in a show of innocence that did not fool Severus for one second, “you mean you would let me go trouser-less alone?”

Quick as a snake Severus replied, “public transport and airports aren’t the usual places where I like to drop mine.” Then switching abruptly to business he continued, “you have half an hour to find an acceptable ratio of clothes to books, Albus has made all the appropriate arrangements.” 

Remus laughed quietly and muttered something that sounded like ‘touché’ as he wrapped a copy of the Hypnerotomachia Poliphili in a cardigan. 

***

An hour later Alastor Moody stretched his legs out gratefully and took a swig from his hip-flask. The young woman opposite eyed him askance and clearly cursed her poor seating choices. However it was still close enough to rush hour that there was only standing room left on the train down to Gatwick and she was not unnerved enough to give up her hard-won seat. Moody paid her little mind. His quarry was clearly in sight, a little too close for his liking but after the merry dance they’d led him through the tube; where they’d switched lines at random and had frequently almost been lost in the crowd, it wouldn’t do to take any chances. He’d have to watch out for Snape though, he’d been an unpleasant, perceptive little bugger at 22 and there was little to suggest that the intervening years had mellowed him. He still hadn’t recognised the old man with a glass-eye as DCI Moody though. 

Four hours earlier Bill Weasley had been waiting for him as he’d stalked in to the Hog’s Head at his usual time, catching his eye and waving him over to the bar. Moody grunted and made his way over, Bill was one of Kingsley’s lot, a bright lad and clearly desperate to talk. 

“Good-afternoon sir,” Bill said, “can I get you a drink?”

Moody gave him a long steady look.

“Ah, yes I suppose not...” Bill collected himself, “Kingsley mentioned that you were to be kept informed of anything happening in the Lestrange case, well I happened to be looking at some old files on the family, the Riddle debacle to be precise...”

Moody scowled at the memory of that damn case, and pulled out his hip-flask, daring Aberforth to comment.

Bill cleared his throat, “I was familiarising myself with some of the photographs of the Riddle circle so that their faces were in my head, just on the off-chance you know. Anyway, I walked in here earlier today and bugger me if one of them wasn’t sitting right there!”

Moody jerked his head up and growled, “which one?”

“Severus Snape,” said Bill decidedly, “or his twin brother. But,” and here his face grew serious, “the worst of it was that he was with Remus Lupin, apparently Albus Dumbledore has them working on something together.”

“Snape eh,” said Moody pensively, “well that makes things a little clearer.”

“It does?” said Bill incredulously. Then resigning himself to not getting any more information out of the older man, shrugged resignedly and said, with some urgency, “can you look into it? Remus is a mate...”

Moody clapped Bill on the shoulder, “don’t worry lad, you get on to Kingsley and tell him that I have it in hand and I’ll be in touch.” He then slipped off the barstool and moved with increased decision towards the door. Hell, he felt ten years younger already. 

***

Remus never wanted to venture to within five miles of an airport with Severus ever again. Unlike the crowds of the tube, which had been packed tightly enough not to allow for idiosyncrasies of movement or behaviour, those at Gatwick were sparse enough to permit Severus his usual thundering gait, which left Remus struggling in his wake. Then there had been the debacle of checking in, where with crushing inevitability they had been stuck in a queue behind a large, mewling family. After the first thirty seconds Severus’ fingers had started twitching for a cigarette, and he had eventually caved and taken out an unlit one, popping it in his mouth and evidently deriving a malicious pleasure from the disapproving looks thrown his way. He had then proceeded to snarl very loudly when one of the brats in front had kicked their suitcases, which had earned them both a truly filthy glare from the mother but had at least kept the children away from them subsequently. After that Severus had settled for looming disconcertingly over any airport staff unfortunate enough to come into contact with them, particularly when the Flamel volume was going through security. All in all, by the time they reached the departure lounge, Remus knew that desperate measures were called for. 

Remus waited until Severus had commandeered a row of seats, spreading their coats out and glaring at anyone who ventured near. He then retrieved his wallet and growled, in what he hoped was an authoritative manner. “Right, you stay where you are.” After taking a moment to savour the look of surprise on Severus’ face Remus turned abruptly on his heel and stalked off in the direction of the bar. 

Once there Remus let the urgency of the situation override his usual diffidence as he waved the girl behind the bar over rather frantically. 

“Please God tell me you have Hendricks gin,” he said appealingly. 

She grinned, “a connoisseur eh? Was check-in that bad?”

“You have no idea, I think my friend is ready to kill. I’m trying to get him sufficiently drunk in order to prevent some kind of hijacking situation once we’re up in the air, but he’s as fussy as a cat so I’m going to have to ease him in with the good stuff.” Realising he might have been speaking too freely, Remus quickly glanced around him. 

The girl laughed as she caught on, “don’t worry I see no security. You’ll need a decent tonic if this is going to be worth your while...”

Remus nodded, “Fevertree if you’ve got it, and as little ice as is humanly possible, and cucumber, there ought to be cucumber. Not that I’m fussed about all this of course...”

She nodded sagely, “this is all for your friend, naturally...This is going to set you back you know.”

Remus grinned wolfishly, “oh don’t worry about that, we’re on someone else’s tab.”

The price of their drinks was indeed eye-watering but it was worth it for the expression of bliss that briefly transformed Severus’ face as he took his first sip.

“My God...” he rumbled and Remus tried not to shiver openly, thankful that Severus had closed his eyes. 

Severus cradled his drink to his chest and gave Remus a considering look. “Mr Lupin, I find your airport coping-mechanisms highly congenial, I do of course have questions...”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yes,” Severus glanced towards the clock, “without insulting this inspired cocktail by suggesting we rush it, exactly how many do you suppose we can drink before boarding the glorified tin-can?”

“I’m aiming for at least two,” said Remus, his face the picture of seriousness.

“Oh I see you have this well planned out.”

“Severus, I have enough experience of you at this stage to know that letting you on that plane sober would probably lead to both of us cooling our heels in custody.” At Severus’ snicker he sighed, “yes, especially if I lose my trousers during the process. Therefore, as Albus had the foresight to situate our hotel within staggering distance of our destination we are going to drink, and keep drinking until such time that I no longer believe you to be a danger to society. Clear?”

Severus merely favoured Remus with another one of his crooked, secretive smiles before raising his glass in a silent toast.

***

Ordinarily Severus wouldn’t dream of permitting himself even this level of drunkenness in someone else’s presence, at least outside of the anonymity of a club, and even that had begun to be distasteful to him. However, Remus had a way of putting him at his ease, and furthermore he seemed to be equally committed to the project of getting hammered. Said project had been necessary. Severus was dimly aware that his legs were cramped up and that someone’s insufferable brat, likely the hellspawn from the queue, was making a fearful racket somewhere towards the back of the plane. The comforting haze of the alcohol and the deceptive privacy of their seats muffled this however, made it easier for Severus to block out the external irritants. With the exception of Remus of course, and that was part of the problem. It turned out that when not melancholic, Remus Lupin under the influence was a terrible flirt. 

Their conversation started innocuously enough as they discussed the merits of fantasy literature. Remus had clearly expected Severus to be scornful of the genre but he was soon put right.

“Honestly Remus,” Severus drawled after revealing that he had read the first three books of George R R Martin’s ‘A Song of Ice and Fire’ compulsively in a single sitting, “its not all Kafka and Camus. I’d say I enjoy a good bit of skullduggery rather more than the average person.”

“Oh well there’s no need to ask who your favourite Discworld character is then.”

“Lord Vetinari is a creation of genius, though I have to say that Granny Weatherwax comes a close second.”

“Ah yes Lord Vetinari, tall, dark, deliciously snarky and quite possibly able to kill people with his toes.” Remus grinned up at the ceiling, “definitely my type.”

Before he could stop himself Severus raised his customary eyebrow, an action that sent Remus into hysterics.

“Oh very apt,” he spluttered out, before letting his grin grow predatory “yes I can certainly see something of a resemblance,’ his meaning unmistakeable. 

Severus thanked all the gods that he didn’t have the tendency to blush. 

***

When Alastor Moody got back to his flat that night the kitchen lights that he had turned off before he left were blazing a warning beacon. 

An intruder then, but not one that was concerned to hide his presence. Considering recent events there was only one viable candidate, and Moody did not consider him cause for grave concern. Nevertheless it always paid to be cautious and Moody tightened his grip around the shiv he kept in his pocket, not much good against a gun, but hopefully there would be no need of that. 

Sure enough, Albus Dumbledore was sat at his kitchen table, calm as you please, sipping at a cup of tea. 

Moody decided to cut to the chase, attempting to play games with Dumbledore could only end in madness and diabetic shock. “Evening Albus, here on behalf of your protegé?”

“Which one?” Albus enquired mildly and Moody grunted, fair enough.

“I’m not going to let this go Albus,” he warned, “it’ll take more than retirement to keep me off any movement on the Riddle case.”

“I would expect no less,” Albus smiled, and clearly the bastard had been banking on this. “In fact I’m actively encouraging you to take an interest.” He pushed a plane ticket across the table, “if you’d be so kind as to keep a protective eye on Severus and Remus while you’re at it I’d make it worth your while.” 

Albus smiled again, supremely confident, and damn him he had reason to be, because Moody was going to head out to Venice anyway, could do little else, and at least this way he’d get paid for his trouble. 

Moody swiped the ticket off the table with ill-grace. “You can show yourself out” he said, before stomping off into his bedroom. He had a bag to pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must acknowledge that in my experience, airport bars are not nearly as well-stocked as the one Remus encounters here, and I speak from the bitter experience of spending a cold night on the floor of Charles-de-Gaulle and attempting to drink away the pain. Needless to say, that was merely an excuse for Remus to display some blatant gin-snobbery, but its my personal canon that both Remus and Severus would take full advantage if Albus was fool enough to give them carte-blanche with his funds, I mean, who wouldn't? (Ah, I see, just me then. I'll be over in the amoral corner if anyone needs me.) 
> 
> Anyway, if I've planned it right, the action should be picking up a notch in the next chapter, but don't hold me to that.


End file.
